


Secrets and Revelations

by BearHatter



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: (not by main character), Angst, Breaking Up & Making Up, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Relationship Problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-03
Updated: 2014-10-03
Packaged: 2018-02-19 17:11:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2396273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearHatter/pseuds/BearHatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Title: Relationships Require Asking and Telling</p>
<p>
  <em>Rodney crossed his arms and turned his head away. “It’s my fault. If I tell you about it you’ll probably…” he swallowed. This was a real scenario. “You’ll probably throw me out a window or something equally violent.”</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets and Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this from a random plot generator; I didn't save it, but it involved a castle, a countdown to disaster, and middle-aged men, one of whom was determined and one who... I don't even remember. There's not even a countdown in this, really. The castle's pretty cool, though, right? No one has ever prompted me; maybe this is why.
> 
> I do have some thoughts for a second chapter, but I'm calling this complete for now since it's all pretty and bow topped. And who knows how long I'll take, anyway, so don't expect anything from me. (hides under rock)

They’re in a drafty, legitimate-battlements-and-all castle when John turns to Rodney and shakes his head, slow and determined. It wouldn’t mean anything to anyone watching, or if anything they would take it as meaning _Don’t screw another diplomatic event up, Rodney,_ but context is everything.

            And this… this is some context. The King and his new Queen are embracing at the cozy end of the Great Hall, surrounded by baskets overflowing with flowers collected by their subjects, candles made by very member of their huge families, all supposed to signify the coming prosperity of the marriage and the Kingdom. There are wooden flutes playing, people beaming in joy, and Rodney feels his heart sink. He wishes they’d never come here.

            He’d known, after all, that John wouldn’t live this way forever, but… this was all grinding it in, and it looked like it was going to be the sooner of sooner or later. “John,” Rodney croaks out underneath all the noise, desperate, but John just disappeared into the crowd like the ghost he could be, like he was in enemy territory.

            Like he was escaping.

 

_Rodney not might be especially likable, might not be one of the gossips that so annoyed him, but he knew how to stay in the loop enough for important things, so when John brought a piece of paper to his room that night (a real piece of paper, obsolete enough to be momentous) he already knew what it said, without needing John’s secret grin, the one he’d always lov—admired, before, to confirm it._

_Now, in contrast, he just felt his stomach drop like lead._

 

By the end of the Royal Banquet (seriously) Rodney was well and truly drunk on the rum punch or whatever the hell they were serving along with the Roast Beast. John was safely ensconced on the other side of both Teyla and Ronon, refusing to look at him and making polite conversation with the Lady on his left while Teyla gave him softly concerned looks.

            The alcohol dulled the bright burn in his chest; the burn of knowing it was all his fault. Unbidden, his mind brought forth an image of John with the DADT repeal held in his hand and a grin on his face, and compared it to the shut-off, guarded expression now walling his face.

            Everything turned into a blurry, noisy mush, only resolving into a scene when he knocked over a glass half into Ronon’s lap, and woke up a little purely out of self-preservation. Ronon didn’t say anything, just stood and hauled Rodney up after him by the back of his collar. He kept hauling all the way to the guest quarters and let Rodney fall onto his four-poster bed before sitting down to disentangle him from his Tac vest and all the dangerous or delicate pieces of equipment therein.

            Rodney just looked up at him, feeling soggier than Ronon looked. “You’re a good friend,” he slurred, and Ronon just grunted at him, still working a strap off his arm. “It’s my fault,” he said, pawing upwards, suddenly feeling urgently that he needed to explain, “John won’t anymore… but it’s my fault, and I… I said it, but I didn’t mean it, and now he’s all… John,” Rodney finally sighed shakily, and Ronon just nodded like that was comprehensible and Rodney passed out before he left his field of view.

 

            _It wouldn’t have been quite as bad if Rodney hadn’t talked about having to hide their relationship before, negatively, hadn’t used it as a tool to one-up in their relationship. He had, though, he’d used it like an advantage, had complained about it and brought it up in every argument he was worried he’d lose. He’d learned that from his parents, to treat relationships like long wars, to keep score and earn points against your partner._

_But he’d only done it because he was sure it wouldn’t change, because it was comfortable this way. He never actually wanted it to change. He was shortsighted._

 

Rodney felt miserable in every possible way the next morning, and the worst part was, he knew he deserved it. Ronon kept looking at him now, with strange half-judging half-pitying looks that he had to avoid. John, of course, was acting like he no longer existed, which was more painful than he’d expected. He tried to let all that be swallowed up in the pain of his headache, and when he couldn’t take the silence on the walk back to the ‘gate asked Teyla leading questions about the culture of whatever planet this was.

            When they did finally step through the gate, the familiar light and atmosphere and even smell all seemed so normal, that Rodney turned to John automatically before remembering with sharp throb and turning back away. Here, back from the dramatic, surreal, literally other-worldly mission, it was hard to believe this was happening.

            He was being melodramatic, maybe? Rodney thought helplessly as the team made its way to the equipment room. It was such a small, John-like gesture, maybe he’d read it wrong, maybe he could persuade John to let things go back to the way they were?

            But John still wouldn’t look at him, and the whole team felt wrong, and Rodney knew he’d read it right. John’s decision was made and nothing he could say—except for one, impossible thing—could change it.

            As he started back towards his quarters, preparing for their silence and not knowing where else to go, he felt a giant hand grab his collar and yank. “Ow, what the—“ he complained, and was not surprised to find it was Ronon now dragging him down the corridor. “Where are we going? You are struggling with the concept of personal space, and it’s not surprising but—“

            Ronon never responded, just let him whine as he tugged him to a door in the quarters section and shoved him through it. “Huh,” Rodney said, distracted by their arrival. “This is… your room, huh? I’ve never seen it before.”

            Ronon shrugged. “No one has, since I came here at least. Just Sheppard, once, in the beginning.”

            It made Rodney look away, this casual show of vulnerability in someone for whom vulnerability was… well, it was impossible. And of course, he thought too of Sheppard coming in here, settling Ronon in, and saw his hand everywhere in the room, in things he’d probably never touched. Sometimes he wished his mind moved just a little slower.

            He watched as Ronon did his lion-sprawl, relaxed and dangerous, on the pelt-covered bed. “Well, the décor is very… you,” he remarked only a little ironically, and gingerly sat at the foot when Ronon glared at him and then the bed pointedly.

            “So.” Ronon said finally. He didn’t go on.

            In fact, he continued not-speaking, very aggressively Rodney felt. “Alright, alright!” Rodney finally caved, “What?!”

            Ronon resettled a little. “What happened with you and Sheppard?” he grunted.

            Rodney crossed his arms and turned his head away. “It’s my fault. If I tell you about it you’ll probably…” he swallowed. This was a real scenario. “You’ll probably throw me out a window or something equally violent.”

            Ronon shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll probably want to.”

            Rodney flailed expressively. “Well, then!”

            “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tell me. Doesn’t mean I can’t maybe help.” Ronon rumbled.

            Rodney looked down for a long, long moment. “I didn’t… he… well. We’ve… been seeing each other. For a little while now. Like, uh, like, romantically, I guess.”

            If he was expecting Ronon to be surprised, be was disappointed. “If by ‘a little while’ you mean 5 months, yeah, I got that much.” Rodney was scandalized and relieved in equal measures.

            “Seriously? How could you tell, we were so—“ he cut himself off, “Oh whatever, it hardly matters now, does it.”

            “What did you do.” Ronon said. He always  made his questions sound like statements.

            “Because of course it was my fault, right?” Rodney blustered. Then he let himself deflate. “Yeah. Of course it was me. You know about ‘Don’t Ask Don’t Tell’?”

            Ronon nodded. “Sheppard’s military doesn’t allow men to lie together.”

            Rodney nodded back. “Or women. Right. So we were always super careful, never really slept over, tried to be subtle… it didn’t seem like a big deal, though, because it was just natural, you know? We were still best friends, we could be together a lot, act the way we wanted, just… no PDA, basically, and no one could know. And I thought we were both fine with it, I definitely was, I mean it was for Sheppard….” He sighed and fidgeted a little closer to the bed’s edge, giving Ronon a regretful glance. “But as it turns out, maybe not so much.”

            Ronon just grunted questioningly, but his eyes were fixed and attentive. Rodney sat up a little and decided to get it over with as quickly as possible. “So, DADT ended, basically, right, and the whole time it had been going on I’d kind of…. I don’t know, teased John about it? That’s not the right word, but it was just something that meant I had more leeway to mess up because it was his issue…? I don’t know. But then it ended. And John was _so happy_ ,” Rodney let out a wet chuckle. “But I just… I couldn’t… I don’t know. I asked him not to tell anyone, if we could just keep on the way we have. And we did, for a while. I think John was expecting me to get used to it, to change my mind. I knew he wasn’t happy with it, he told me he’d have to think about it. And today… today he made his choice.”

                        There was a long moment of silence. It went past drama and into awkward before Ronon judged, “Yeah, you are an idiot.” It wasn’t close to as hostile or dangerous Rodney’d expected, and in spite of himself his shoulders relaxed a little.

            “Is that all you have to say?” He demanded. “It seems a little anti-climactic, after asking me to bare my heart to you. “ To be fair to Ronon though, Rodney thought, laid all out like that, the thing that stood out to him was his own idiocy too. Maybe that was all there was to it. Maybe that was just the new reality.

            “McKay,” Ronon broke in on his thoughts. “Whatever you’re thinking right now, is wrong.”

            “Right, because I’m an idiot, I remember,” Rodney nodded and stood, “So, if that’s all you wanted to know—“

            “Sit. Down. Now.” Ronon growled in that implacable, terrifying way he had. Rodney sat. “So. You love Sheppard, obviously,” he spoke, ignoring Rodney’s feeble protest, “Why don’t you want anyone to know about it?”

            Rodney’s head bent, his posture one that most would call defensive and defiant. It was, of course, but those who knew Rodney didn’t see only that when he looked like this. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion but high and bright with an attempt at casuality. “Well, I guess I just… I just barely got to know Jeannie again, you know? And she, she always listened to my mom, takes after her, you know? Always after me to get married, have kids, start the picket fence dream going. She’s always asking me, you know, _Rodney, when did you last date? Whatever happened to Katie Brown?_ So I guess I just…. I don’t want….” he swallowed and gestured. “And not just her, but… I know how people are. John and I are always catching flak anyway, we’re leading officers, that’s how it is…. I can’t afford some caveman homophobic Marine not having John’s back on a mission because they know he sleeps with me. There’s so much… I just keep seeing so many variables.” He turned to Ronon a little desperately, “I’m not good with change! It was a miracle I even made the decision to come here! And we were… we were good, you know? I thought we were good. And John always listens to me, even when he pretends he doesn’t so I thought…. I thought maybe he would stay anyway.” He laughed once, with no humor and a lot of bitterness. “Even though he was unhappy. I’m so selfish. And so now we’re both miserable, and it’s my fault.”

            Ronon moved to his side with alacrity, letting a heavy hand fall on his shoulder and move to the back of his neck. It made Rodney feel like a recalcitrant puppy, even when Ronon bumped heads with him in the Satedan warrior custom. “Did you tell him why?”

            Rodney shook his head gently, not trying to shake off the support. “No. Does it really matter?”

            Ronon squeezed tighter for a moment, then let go. “Yes.” He stood smoothly and pulled Rodney up after him. “Now go tell him,” he commanded, and pushed Rodney insistently towards the door.

            “What?” Rodney cried askance. “What, now? And that’s your solution?” He didn’t een want to face John right now.

            “If you don’t do it,” Ronon said in the bright, deadly sarcastic tone he pulled out only for special occasions, “I’ll throw you out a window like you said you deserved.”

`            “I think you’ll find I never said anything of the sort,” Rodney tried to bluster, but for some reason he couldn’t get up the anger, or the gloom to fuel it. Ronon always treated conversation like surgery—get in, remove tumor, get out—and while Rodney always thought it ridiculous, he did feel lighter, more focused.

            Hopeful?

 

 

_The first time he’d felt hopeful about John’s feelings, he’d been captured by some primitive tribe who wanted to keep him prisoner to fix their Ancient idol. John had burst in his Kirkian way, saving the day and rescuing Rodney, but he hadn’t been his usual smug self. He’d made sure Rodney was okay._

_It was just three days later that Rodney took the leap and kissed him, and only a week before they’d talked about the need for secrecy and a possible steady relationship._

            He left Ronon’s quarters headed straight for the practice range and arsenal. It wasn’t a place where he’d usually look for Sheppard, it wasn’t a place John usually hung out in, but he knew for a fact he’d been avoiding him in there just like Rodney had been planning to work in the desalination control room. Hiding behind obscure duties had always been a fallback for them.

            It was a little intimidating, elbowing past all the military types Atlantis had to offer on the way to their favorite place to shoot things, but compared to a Ronon prepared to talk about feelings… let’s just say Rodney was caught between a rock and a hard place, and as he slipped into the primary military supply office he could feel the pressure.

            The assistant quartermaster on duty, seeing him, inclined his head wordlessly towards the active firing range through the left door. The indicator said the range was currently hot, so Rodney put on one of the sets of ear protection hanging on a rack before slipping inside.

            John was the only one there, and he had a spread of automatic and semi-automatic weapons by him that a war lord would envy. It looked like he was testing for defaults in the recent resupply, shooting, disassembling, examining, cleaning, and reassembling. All the targets showed neat center clusters.

            As Rodney walked down the row towards him, John slid a magazine into a handgun, aimed, and shot steadily. He changed targets, sped up, slowed down, but didn’t stop until he was out. Rodney drew level with him and looked at the results. Fourteen bullets, fourteen center-ring hits, in three different targets.

            John exhaled in the calm, deliberate way he did everything when he was trying not to be annoyed, and began to strip the gun down. He gave no indication he knew Rodney was there until he spoke. “P-14. Thinking of using it instead of my standard Beretta. .45 could have more momentum than the 9mm against non-human targets. ‘Course, some of the guys may shake their head at me for going back to the 1911, that whole debate. Some’ll hail me as the prodigal son returned. One less bullet per magazine, that’s not nothing, but more kick per shot.”

Rodney knew weapons, but he really didn’t know guns. Sheppard knew that, so Rodney didn’t even try to answer, just took off the earmuffs that were now squeezing his head for no reason.

 

_He could think of all the times he’d done similar things, hidden behind technical language, deflecting real conversation when he didn’t feel like talking. He could go on and on about shield power differentials and conduit capabilities, filibustering if necessary. John never complained, but he obviously noticed. John noticed everything._

 

“Its maker is based in Canada, so you can enjoy that,” John said in a falsely bright tone, bringing Rodney back from his thoughts. It wasn’t fake enough to bite, but enough to be defensive. He’d finished taking the gun apart, now, and started to clean it.

Rodney still didn’t know what to say, John had hidden where his comfort zone didn’t intersect with Rodney’s and was emphasizing that; but he had to start out with something, so he just said, “John.” It wasn’t groundbreaking, but since he almost never called him that outside of private quarters, it meant something. It made John’s hands hesitate, at least, and made his eyes flicker to Rodney’s and away. Most heartening, though it was more symbolic than practical, he took off his ear protection and set it on the table next to Rodney’s.

“Yeah?” John drawled in the deliberately deepened American accent McKay found equal parts annoying and attractive. He was still cleaning his gun.

Rodney huffed a breath. “Can we… talk?” He winced a little saying it—it was not a phrase associated with good things—but it wasn’t really like things could get much worse. Sheppard finished cleaning the piece he was working on and looked up, considering. “I just talked to Ronon,” Rodney offered quietly. “He… he gave me some advice.”

John looked at him, eyes dark and fathomless, before he nodded. “Alright.” Working in a few efficient and obviously familiar moves, he put the gun back together before sliding it into his thigh holster, which had previously been empty. He crossed his arms and turned to Rodney. “Well?”

Rodney couldn’t help rolling his eyes just a little. “Could we maybe talk not on the gun range?”

John gestured elaborately towards the door, and echoed Rodney’s sarcastic tone: “Lead on.”

As they passed back through the main room, Sheppard tossed the range keys to the marine on duty. “Would you mind putting those away, Sergeant? They’re all tested and cleaned except the shotgun, so don’t check that off yet.”

“Yes, sir,” the guy nodded, catching the keys easily. He gave McKay a sidelong look, but didn’t say anything else as they left.

They ended up on a balcony, just a small one with a bench. It was warm enough outside, with just a soft breeze, and it was a neutral space. Rodney took a breath and let it out slowly. He’d never felt this uncomfortable with John before, not even when they were first dancing around a relationship.

“So, um,” he started, “I saw on the mission, that—“ his throat was thickening, and he cleared it, “—that you made your decision,” he put a hand out to touch John’s arm, but drew it back. His next sentence was soft, hoarse. “I never wanted it to be like this.”

“Yeah, Rodney, you made that pretty clear,” John said, almost as quiet but harder and sharper.

 

_"I don’t think this should change anything,” Rodney said to the piece of paper in his hands, a notification-at-large from the SGC of the change in policy. He couldn’t look at John when he said it but he could almost hear his expression change from quiet but extreme pleasure to shut down, locked tight._

_“Huh,” he said._

 

“Not, no, I mean—“ Rodney scrubbed his hands through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “We’ve been happy, haven’t we?” he pleaded. “I still don’t _understand_. I know I’m not always the easiest person to—but we have something, John. I don’t want to lose it, it’s the best thing that’s happened to me after this expedition.”

John wilted a little, losing most of his stoic posture. “We’ve been happy,” he confirmed. “ _I’ve_ been happy. And I thought about letting this go, letting you sweep it under the rug or whatever the hell you want to do. But going to the Royal Wedding of the Three Starry Shield Roses or whatever…” his voice was lighter and mocking at the description, but his hands dropped, clasped between his knees as he thought and continued.

“I saw them, and I knew you never wanted that. Hell, I don’t want some flower-bedecked wedding in a castle either. You know me, I was never going to be shouting anything from rooftops. Shouting anything anywhere. But I wanted to be able to touch you around Ronon and Teyla, smile at you in the mess hall without having a reason, have other people be happy for us like we saw in there. And… and I deserve that, Rodney. I’ve been told I don’t deserve a lot of things, by my dead father, by my ex-wife. My brother, even. But that’s something I’ve always been stubborn enough to know I deserve.” Turning sharply enough to show the soldier in him, he paused to look one last time at Rodney, “And so do you.”

It was the most words John had spoken to Rodney together since DADT had been repealed. Rodney was almost speechless with distress, but seeing John leave somehow kick-started his determination. He may be grumpy, whiny, difficult, arrogant, but he had never backed down easily when his stubbornness was up. He wasn’t giving John up without a fight, and he scrambled up and after him.

            “Wait, we’re not done, I have to—“ Rodney grasped at John’s arm desperately, only to be deftly tripped off-balance and shoved against the wall, an arm across his collarbones.

            “Stop, Rodney. Just stop, okay?” John growled. “I’ve been through the closet song and dance before, and I don’t feel like dancing today.”

            What little air was between them felt electric, and Rodney’s breath sped up from the dual physical threats, but this fight wasn’t about their chemistry. Misunderstanding overrode libido. Rodney looked John in the eye and tried to be his most persuasive. “Ronon told me to talk about whys, okay? And… and I’m really glad _you_ told me why, because it’s not like that, okay? I’m not trying to sweep you under any kind of rug. You know how I am with cleaning, I’m not much of a sweeper.” John huffed and rolled his eyes, looking away, but Rodney’s arms were free and he reached one up to turn John’s chin back to him and grasp the back of his neck. “ _Really_ I’m not. Trying to hide you, I mean, not the whole cleaning thing. I mean…” Rodney huffed at himself this time, before leaning forward to kiss the corner of John’s unhappy mouth. “I love you. Okay?” It wasn’t the first time one of them had said it, but it wasn’t exactly the hundredth time either, and it made John’s eyes scrunch up in the cute, happy, confused way that Rodney secretly daydreamed about sometimes. “And Ronon told me that if I didn’t explain better _why_ I’d rather not tell everyone about us, he’d defenestrate me. Er, throw me out a window. I don’t know why I just turned into a dictionary…”

            John leaned in this time, to brush lips across Rodney’s forehead. It was hesitant, but it still made Rodney look up with the vulnerable, wide eyes he rarely let anyone see. “I know what defenestrate means. And I guess you’d better tell me, then.” The iron arm across Rodney’s chest relaxed, and came down to tug Rodney back to the bench, where they sat again, but with arms and legs brushing this time.

            It was hard for Rodney to go into it again, especially with all that was on the line, all the misunderstanding that was on the record, but he did it. He talked to John about his family and his fears more than he probably ever had, and was relieved to be rewarded with growing understanding in John’s eyes. He talked about worrying about soldier expectations on a military operation, about wanting both of them to be safe. And when he finally ran out of words, (no mean feat for a Rodney McKay on a mission,) he was shocked to find himself wrapped in a slightly awkward, but definite hug.

            It was John’s turn for some further explanation, and by the time he’d finished his stream of halting, past-stained phrases about his father and his first relationship and his last one, it was past noon, and Rodney was pressed up tight against John in support and in gratitude for the touch. John might only have made his final decision yesterday, but he’d been pulling away for a while now, and getting this close to him was a privilege few enjoyed outside of combat. Well. Those in combat didn’t exactly enjoy it either.

            “Well,” John finally sighed. “I guess we’re both pretty messed up.” He was smiling faintly as he said it, though.

            “Oh please,” Rodney snorted, “Like that’s news.”

**Author's Note:**

> FUN FACT: When I wrote John saying "closet song and dance" I giggled because I imagined someone singing and dancing in a closet. And then I left the phrase in for posterity to potentially enjoy that image. (WHAT IT's COMIC RELIEF OKAY)
> 
> Fun Fact Addendum: For every comment I get, I will include another ridiculous image and/or pun in the potential second chapter. Feed me.


End file.
